


a tentative payment plan

by lameafpun



Series: assassin's creed thirst [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Edgeplay, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: Hunting for herbs had never been so eventful.
Relationships: Alexios (Assassin's Creed)/Reader
Series: assassin's creed thirst [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748839
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	a tentative payment plan

A squealing cry of a boar shatters the peace of the night, the shout of pain — undoubtedly human — following not long after. Through the foliage you brush aside you catch a glimpse of a man rolling through the dirt. Arrows spill out of his quiver as he’s knocked to the ground by the thrashing boar. Everything moves as if the world has been submerged in wax — you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. He’s just seconds away from being properly gored by the boar’s tusks. 

In the wild, split second decisions are the difference between life and death and so you don’t hesitate to whistle and yell and stick your neck out for this stranger that’s limping away through the clearing. “NO! Stupid boar, no!” 

It screams shrilly with the might of Ares himself, blood pouring down its hide in an ugly image of brutality. It doesn’t make any move to where the stranger disappeared into the brush, though.

The smaller boars trot around, agitated. Gradually, they gather around the largest as it limps back to the center of the clearing. Its eyes are on you, beady, wary little things that watch as you circle around to chase after the (hopeful) survivor. Your shoulders only lower after the bushes shift into place behind you. Not the greatest of barriers, but you’re never truly safe out of the cities anyway. Some just get swallowed up by the wild. One of these days it will be you, you expect, but it isn’t today. Not for you and not for the mysterious, stupid stranger that had taken on the Boar on its home turf with substandard gear. 

It isn’t the most difficult thing to find the man. From the way his blood had pooled so liberally in the dirt behind him you’re more than a little worried that you’re already too late to do anything besides constructing a funeral pyre. You find him slumped against the roots of a tree, clutching at his side, head lolling woozily as his face pales under the caked on dirt. Briefly, you whisper a word of thanks to Soteria and her gracious salvation. 

“Oh, stranger.” You sigh even as you shoulder off your pack, pulling out rolls of bandages and various ointments. “Mess with the boar, you get the tusks.” 

He mumbles nonsensically, batting your arms away with surprising strength as you unbuckle his blood-soaked armor. As it’s set to the side he reaches for it weakly. He scowls in your general direction, eyes unfocused as blood oozes out of the nasty gash in his side, the flow exacerbated by his movements. Even with your experience with wounds like this you have to swallow back bile when you see chunks of flesh just _missing_. “No, you will taste steel if you touch me—“

Patience is next to godliness. That is to say, you wait a few seconds until he passes out and then proceed to tend to the obstinate, foolish stranger. 

He wakes a full day later on a proper bed roll and props himself up on his elbows to look around your quickly made camp, focusing on the fire crackling merrily away. Some god must be favoring him; he healed quicker than you expected. 

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living.” His head snaps in your direction, squinting at the light of the flames. You smile. “I thought blood loss would have finished off what the Boar started but you seemed determined to claw yourself out from Hades’ grasp.” 

“The Boar?” His voice is scratchy and low, what you’re sure is just his natural vocal depth enhanced by the effects of screaming in the face of death by overgrown pig. 

“Alive. Doing well. From what I saw you were but a fly to be swatted in its view.” 

His fingers run over the bandages, probing, as he sits up fully. He winces. 

“Don’t! Athena save me from idiots — Don’t touch and push and ruin my hard work!” 

“I heal quickly, and I doubt this fly could undo your hard work, healer.” Ah, so he was a sarcastic stranger. “What do I owe you for saving my life?”

You sigh and move to check his bandages. No blood dots it and neither does the rotting colors of infection; if only all your patients were this easy to treat. “Nothing.”  
(He starts, shocked that you wouldn’t try to shake him down for all he was worth in exchange for not letting him die. The equation isn’t adding up. People don’t just do things out of the goodness of their heart and he’s been burned enough times to internalize that valuable lesson. A favor, maybe? Malaka, he hates having things held over his head.)

“Then let me repay you.” He smirks in a way you’re sure he thinks is so suave. Well, it is, but you’re sure it’s well practiced and you catch the glint of expectation in his eyes. He leans over into your personal space, planting his arm (that are muscles on muscles, gods) on the ground next to your hips. You frown. “A traveling man has to be good with a blade after all.” 

“Oh, are we playing parts?” You lift a hand to your forehead and feign a swoon as the stranger stares, your eyes half lidded in an imitation of a sultry lady so exaggerated it’s looped around to being sultry again. “Oh gods, my roadside hero, my Herakles, please ravage me with your body, take me, make me scream to the heavens so the gods themselves hear and so on and so forth.” Your hand drops as you roll your eyes again. No, you wouldn’t play your part if that was what he was expecting. By Zeus, he would accept your act of good will and he would like it. 

“My —“

“Nevermind that it was I who saved you, misthios.”

He looks somewhat insulted by the sarcastic flippancy. “Misthios?” 

His brow only grows more furrowed as you pointedly look him up and down, thoroughly unimpressed. “Doing something that stupid? With that armor?” You pointed over your shoulder at the thoroughly shredded bits of leather and fur you had gathered in a pile next to his bed roll. “Either a misthios or someone going for a walk near the area who had a very poor sense of the…aesthetics. Which I doubt. If it wasn’t for the money no one would even bother with that old beast.”

He looked over at his armor, the despair at the sight of his ruined gear rivaled only by indignation. You clap a hand on his shoulder — the uninjured one that isn’t blooming black and blue. Even those are quickly fading, though.

“Well, misthios, you’ve stopped bleeding, your bandages are clean, and you’re not going to die if I leave in the next few hours.” 

You’re halfway to standing when he clamps his hand over yours. “Alexios. My name is Alexios.” He looks into your eyes, smoldering. It’s like he knows where the moonlight is hitting and turning his face so you can see it in all its glory. “Is my thanks so unwelcome?”

You ignore the question and clear your throat. “Well Alexios, as your healer, I’m recommending that you don’t engage in any sort of strenuous activity for at least another few weeks if you don’t want to be laid on your back for even longer.”

“What kind of strenuous activity would that be?” He may as well be wiggling his eyebrows. “Please, go into detail so I know what to avoid.” 

Of all the lines — you don’t snort but it’s a close thing. “Are you really so set on “repaying me” Alexios?” 

He shrugs, some of the seduction fading as you frankly cut through the midnight fantasy. “Never leave a debt unpaid. And the last person I tried “communing to the gods with” tried to kill me. You, I think, would not go through all that trouble just to run me through with a blade you do not have.” 

“Your side —“

“I heal quickly. And I had a very skilled healer to tend to my wounds.”

Whatever you expected from the misthios who went after the Boar, but that wasn’t off the mark. You find yourself hesitating. Sighs seem to be the staple of the evening — he’s not going to let his debt go (pride, maybe) and you’re finding yourself growing less and less resistant to the idea. Fine, but if you’re to play a part you’re going to do it your way. 

“I thought misthios were brutes and yet you seem to be blessed by Peitho.”

The bedroll is soft against your knees as you sink down again, the different slope to your shoulders obvious to Alexios. His legs inch apart and you settle between Alexios’ knees. 

“As am I by Eros.” The way his perizoma is tenting, you believe him. Still, you scoff and run a hand over his side, the bandages rough against your palm. 

“For all of your piety one would hope you pay equal attention to Aceso and heed her in times of healing — no riding, lifting more than a full basket, or swinging anything too heavy.” 

“You’ve just described everything a misthios must do.” His eyes rake over you, the insincere pout drawing attention to his lips. 

You reach for the knot of his perizoma. “Then maybe you can just be Alexios, and this can just be a celebration of your not dying.” 

The cloth falls away to pool at his hips and he’s laid bare before you. There’s no other way to describe him — he’s gorgeous. Scars wind up and down his tanned, muscled body and for all he is made for war you can see parts of him made for love as well. Kisses are laid with a delicate precision on his scruffy jawline and he hums as he reaches forward for the clasp on your tunic. 

“No strenuous activity, Alexios. I will break your hand if you tear your sutures — just let me take care of you.” 

You could break his hand, yes, but he can snap you in two. Yet, he obeys and leans back onto his elbows. Perhaps it was the orders? 

“Good. Now don’t move. Do not speak either, or else you will convince me to do something that will tear the only thing holding you together.” Before your eyes, he twitches and yes, it had been the orders. Life and death and some form of power over the two is closer to you than the average citizen but rarely have you had this kind of power, this kind of command. Under the heat of his gaze your breath comes low and hot. Again you kiss him, worshipping (but still your own kind of worship), your hands exploring his shoulders, his chest, his hips, the raised skin of his scars. Light, exploring touches that leave goosebumps in their wake but never enough to satisfy the burning beneath his skin. As your hand descends, brushing against the thatch of wiry black hair, Alexios can’t help the jump to his hips or the grunt of frustration as you let your fingertips skate to the side and settle on his thighs. “I told you not to move.” 

Color rises in his chest. He’s flushed and cursing under his breath, muscles taut and straining against the instinctive urge to move. Only your word prevents him from doing so. Even with that, his fingers dig into the dirt as you draw circles over the skin of his thigh, drawing teasingly close to where he so desperately wants but you never give away more than an aborted motion. His brow is scrunched, body filled with an overwhelming energy that makes him tremble. Alexios lets his head fall back, eyes closed, teeth grit. The beads in his braids glint in the moon light. 

There’s something to be said about subverting expectations. The satisfaction of doing so is second only to the reactions you get and you are not disappointed by Alexios’ when you run a fingertip up the underside of his shaft, your other hand stroking his thigh. Unashamed lust permeates the air around him as a low, wanton moan fills your ears. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Gods!” 

“Not quite.” Even at your mercy he manages to smirk, though the boast is undercut but the way he jerks when you squeeze at the base of his cock. 

“I don’t like punishing, Alexios,” You say sternly, leaning over authoritatively, “but I will if I must.”

He’s looking down at you now as you give in to the urge to nip at his defined collarbones. “Who says you —” You mouth down the expanse of his chest, following the line of muscle, tasting something oddly smoky and musky. Sweat, you think. And ash? It isn’t unpleasant. “Who says you must?” 

Your breath ghosts over the skin of his stomach, fingers drawing down his Apollo’s belt painfully slow. You’re eye level with the head of his cock and revel in the way it weeps. He shifts. 

“Alexios.” Steel enters your voice, and the hand that had lifted from the ground descends back onto the dirt. 

He whines, the _brat_. “Sisyphus will have rolled his boulder up the hill when you finally —“ 

It’s hot on your lips, your tongue, your throat and large enough to choke on. Funnily enough, it’s Alexios who chokes. 

“ _Gods_!”

For all his inability to follow one of your orders you can see the way his abdominals flex with effort to follow the other, though your hands at his hips do work as a reminder. 

Your mouth feels oddly light when you go up to speak. “Not quite.” 

His chuckle gets caught in his throat as you grasp his shaft with a spit slicked hand and begin to work the entirety of his cock with your mouth. A full body shudder wracks him when you lock eyes and suck his balls into your mouth, rolling his foreskin down with the hand still on his shaft. 

Saliva is well and truly dripping down your chin when you sink down again, going inch by inch in a way you know is tortuous. Another deep moan is pulled from his chest, resonating in the spring in your stomach you can’t even use a hand to set off. Fuck, now you’re getting needy. 

Your rhythm is slow despite your own impatience. You take time to swallow his cock, to give every inch the attention it deserves. 

If the spasms at the base of his cock hadn’t clued you in the rush of not-yet-cum would have. Desire has robbed him of coherent thought and only naked confusion greets you when you firmly grip his base, effectively halting his orgasm in its tracks. 

“Punishment, Alexios.” You hum, just a hint vindictive. 

You don’t even have to wait a minute. “ _Please_.” 

All it takes is feeling your throat pulse around him. He comes into your mouth with a groan, gaze fixed on the sight of your lips stretched around his cock. It’s too much, and it ends up splattering on your cheek (Alexios feels dizzy and spent but he feels like he has another round in him as he watches you swipe it off with a finger and suck it into your mouth). 

You sit back up. Something dripping and red on his side draws your attention.

“I — Alexios! Your sutures!” 


End file.
